What About Love?
by 24601bakerstreet
Summary: When Mark Cohen meets a new member of the Alphabet City, a spunky, sassy artist named Musetta, can she help him get over the loss of yet another friend or simply add to his burden? This is rated teen from mentions of suicide and course language (this RENT after all). Please R&R, every little bit helps!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N As usual, all rights go to the late, great Jonathan Larson, who has saved my life ten times over. I own none of the characters or the plot of RENT. But Musetta is my creation, with her own personality and life I gave to her. But other than that, nothing is mine. **

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**Strangers with Hazel Eyes**

_"History has shown us time and time again that you don't have to know someone to love them with all your heart." _  
_-Shannon L. Alder_

I dash across the subway platform, squeezing past all walks of life, professional looking business men, lost tourists looking confused, grubby homeless people panhandling and street performers of every kind. I push past the hordes of people, stepping on feet and briefcases in vain to push past the surging crowd of humanity in front of me. I was not going to be late to the Life Café again, I had footed the bill for three weeks in a row because of a sort of natural selection game of nose goes. It wasn't my fault Alexi had kept me so late, I thought to myself as I shoved past an elderly man playing a somber ballad on a violin. I glance back, halfheartedly apologetic and ran straight into another on coming figure and I'm knocked to the disgusting subway platform ground.

"Oh fuck!" A female voice calls out. I glance up to see a young women wringing her hands in a panic, the entire front of her blouse covered in paint and a huge asymmetrical rip through a canvas she had been carrying. "This took me a month to paint!" She shouted, her anger not pointed at anyone in particular. She sighs and turns to glare towards me. "Watch where you're going jackass." She growled as she tried fruitlessly to wipe the paint off her blouse. I readjust my glasses which had been knocked askew off my nose. She would be very pretty, if she hadn't been yelling at me. She was very small, a Mimi sort of build, but that's where the similarities stopped. She was extremely pale with elegant features, like that of a queen. She was wearing all black and her hair was a bright blue and was wound back in a bun at the nape of her neck. She had hazel eyes that seemed to be glowing with anger, alive with her furry, they were captivating.

"Are you just going to sit there or are you going to help me?" She barked, snapping me out of my daze.

"Yeah, sorry." I mumble as she extends a hand to help me up. I take it and she tugs me off the concrete with surprising strength. I gape at her in shock.

"Yeah, yeah." She says, waving her hand dismissively, "I'm strong for someone who is only 5 foot. I've heard it before." She sighs.

"I can pay for this…" I trail off, trying to think off a way to rectify the damage that had already been done.

"It's fine. I hadn't sold it yet and I only used the paints at a public art center, so it was no loss of profits to me. Only my time." She sighs again, pitching the totaled painting in an overflowing trash bin next to a very hung-over looking man sitting in a puddle of his own vomit. I wrinkle my nose in disgust.

"What? Never seen vomit before?" She smirked. I gulped, thinking of finding Mimi sitting in a pool of her own vomit, too late to call the paramedics, she was already gone. I shivered.

"No, it's just that…" I stutter, trying to think of how to say this. A look of concern takes over the girl's face, her smirk fading, aware that she had overstepped some boundary. She recoiled and extended her hand in a sort of improvised truce.

"I'm Musetta." She smiled as I took her slender, pale hand.

"Mark. Mark Cohen." I reply, shaking her hand firmly. "Musetta as in…?"

"La Boheme." She smiled, "My mother loved Puccini and his operas, so when I was born, my parents decided to name me after one of his most famous character." She has started walking away from the trash can and I had unconsciously followed her.

"That's interesting. I was just named Mark because that was my grandfather's name." I say, pushing my glasses further up my nose somewhat self-consciously. Musetta smiled slightly to herself.

"Where were you headed in such a hurry Mr. Cohen?" she simpers, teasingly calling me Mister just to get under my skin.

"The Life Café. I was meeting some friends there and the rule is, last one there foots the bill. Well, I've been late three weeks in a row and it's not my fault that my boss keeps me overtime." I sigh and glance over at Musetta who is grinning like the Cheshire Cat. This girl was very manic, going from anger to concern to joy in the matter of a few minutes.

"I'd be glad to be your excuse to why you were late." She smiles in sort of suggestive way, evident she was aware of the innuendo she had just made.

"N-no. That won't be necessary." I blush as she skips to catch up with me, me heavy combat boots slapping the sidewalk.

"Oh, that's shame." She said, innocently, "I could help pay." It was a tempting offer, and for whatever reason, I liked this girl, with her sarcastic seductiveness. It was almost like she was parodying herself.

"If you'd like." I offered bashfully.

"Mister Cohen, I think we'll get along just fine." She grinned.

**A/N Okay, that was the first chapter. R&R, all your advice helps!**


	2. Chapter 2

******A/N As usual, all rights go to the late, great Jonathan Larson, who has saved my life ten times over. I own none of the characters or the plot of RENT. But Musetta is my creation, with her own personality and life I gave to her. But other than that, nothing is mine. **

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**Warm Lips, Cold Hands**

_If people were rain, I was drizzle and she was a hurricane." _  
_― John Green, Looking for Alaska_

We walked down the packed sidewalks, shoving past hordes of people. New York, a great place to be unless you have to be somewhere on time, I growl to myself. Lost in my own thoughts, Musetta waltz up to me again, breaking the normal rule of single file sidewalk travel.

"Explain the camera Cohen." She teases with her hands at her waist, "You hold it like a newborn."

"Well, I'm filming a movie, a documentary really," She leaned in expectantly, "And if I see something I want footage of, I need to be at the ready."

"Ooo, a director." She smiles, "Zoom in for my close up." She frames her pale features with her hands in a makeshift frame. She bats her eyelashes her eyelashes dramatically. I can't help but chuckle at her outlandishness. She grins at my response, and does a little spin as she dodges a confused tourist. Her blue ponytail tickles my neck slightly as she gracefully slows to a stop. She glances back up at me with her expectant hazel eyes boring into mine. "So what's it about?"

I polish the lens of my camera trying to figure out how to word this. "It's about people living with AIDS/HIV." She pauses, her eyes convey a sudden sadness.

"Oh…" She replies simply, trailing off, "I had some friends with AIDS. It was terribly painful to see them go." He pace slows slightly, it was almost if you could hear the non-existent soundtrack shift into a sadder melody.

"Yeah…" I add quietly, "Several of my friends have it. Or had it." Musetta's once cheerful face had faded into a steely façade. I turn away, prepared for the equally steely silence that would presumably follow. She sighs and I look over at her, her eyes glazed over, her feet on the ground head in the clouds expression smeared all over her face. I sigh in return, lost in her own thoughts, so much for conversation.

"Tell about your friends," She suddenly cuts in, her voice quivering with emotion, "The ones you lost." I blink surprised.

"Well, my roommate Roger's ex-girlfriend April slit her wrists when she found out she was AIDS positive." I gulp, trying to continue, "Then there was Angel who was a street performer. She was an incredible percussionist. She was our friend Collin's partner they loved each other like no two other people I've ever seen before. We lost him, I mean her about two years ago around Halloween." I could feel my vision getting misty, _Keep it together Cohen _I scold myself, "And then there was Mimi," I smile sadly at my feet, to keep the tears from spilling over, "Mimi was a dancer at the Cat Scratch Club. She got into some drugs and contracted AIDS. She started dating Rodger about two years ago and we found her three months ago in pool of her own vomit. We tried…" I stumble, "We tried to save her, but it was too late." I glance over, Musetta's shoulders are heaving as silent sobs wrack her body and fat tears roll down her face. I awkwardly place my arms around her shoulders in an attempt at a comforting gesture. I opened my mouth to ask if she was alright, _Of course she isn't you idiot. _I yell at myself mentally, _She's sobbing. _I wrap my arms around her tighter, pulling her into a tight bear hug. I stare at the top of her darkly rooted head as she cries. She pushes against me, trying desperately to escape my rib crushing hug and hits the heavily graffitied wall behind us. She wipes her eyes with the back of her hand.

"Sorry." She smiled as she wiped the tears off her cheek, "I'm a little bit moody." _More than a little bit_, my inner thoughts chirped rudely.

"It's alright, it happens to the best of us." I smile lightly as I grope awkwardly for her hand. I lace my fingers through hers. They're cool, cold as ice. I try to push the troubling thought aside as I squeeze her hand encouragingly as we near the Life Café. We pad up the cracked and crumbled pavement to the painted red brick façade. Musetta turns to me before I push into the café.

"Wait," She places her hand delicately on my chest, holding me back. She pops up on her tiptoes and gives me a small, warm peck on the cheek. I feel my face grow warm as she smiles slightly at my reaction. "Now we can go." She sighed.

**A/N Second Chapter. Musetta is a little moody, I know. That's sort of how she is, I thought the Looking for Alaska quote was perfect for that. Anyway. R&R it means the world to me. **


	3. Chapter 3

_******A/N As usual, all rights go to the late, great Jonathan Larson, who has saved my life ten times over. I own none of the characters or the plot of RENT. But Musetta is my creation, with her own personality and life I gave to her. But other than that, nothing is mine.**_

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**Easter Sunday**

_You must not lose faith in humanity. Humanity is an ocean; if a few drops of the ocean are dirty, the ocean does not become dirty._  
_-Mahatma Gandhi_

As we walk into the dimly lit and smoky room. I instantly see my friends, the loudest group at our normal table. Maureen is perched on the table and Rodger has his guitar slung over his shoulder, slumped over sadly, stirring the ice in his drink subconsciously. Joanne glances over and waves happily, beckoning us over. I squeeze Musetta's hand again as we walk over to the overstuffed tables, she slinks behind me, almost like a beaten cat, scared of being seen and willing herself to be invisible. I swerve around the other starving artists' belongings, and the understaffed wait staff and plop down at the end of the booth next to Collins, forcefully pulling Musetta with me causing her to land on my lap. I turn my face, our noses colliding awkwardly. She blushes and stood up loitering awkward at the end of the table.

"You two seem awfully friendly." Collins teases as my other friends snicker. Musetta's cheeks turn a deeper red as I scoot over to make room for her on the vinyl booth. She sits down gracefully, purposefully leaving a larger margin between our bodies.

"Sorry, I'm Musetta." Musetta smiles, regaining her bearings as she reaches to shake the nearest hand, Collins.

"Pretty name for a pretty girl." He smiles good-naturedly, "I'm Collins, Tom Collins." She smiles and shakes his hand solidly.

"That's Maureen, she's a performance artist, she works with social rights and such," I say pointing to the crazy haired diva, "This is her…friend Joanne. She's a lawyer." I stumble at the diva and lawyer's on-and-off relationship status, "This is my roommate Rodger. He plays guitar." She smiles as I point to the shaggy blonde, the sadness evident in her eyes that she remembered him from the stories I had told her.

"And I'm curious about you Miss Musetta." Maureen smirks. _Oh shit, not now Maureen _my brain screams, "How did you come across everyone's favorite camera dork?" Musetta studies her hands for a moment.

"Well, he's terribly clumsy," Musetta starts, receiving a few chuckles from Collins, "And he ran into me and completely destroyed my painting. So he promised to make it up to me." She concluded simply. I couldn't help but smile at how animated she was, her hands telling her story and her eyes lit up like a marque. I could see Rodger glancing over at me, smiling teasingly at my odd interest in this girl. I blush as he turns his attention back to the conversation.

"But how could you possibly put up with him?" Maureen teases.

"He's far more fascinating than he lets on." She says as she steals a crouton from Collin's salad.

"Oh, meaning what?" Rodger butts in, joining on in the teasing. I can see Musetta biting her tongue to keep from saying something that might get her smacked. She twists her lips into a smirk.

"Oh," She pauses, resting her chin on her hand, "I'm just implying that he's fantastic in bed." She says with a deadpan expression. I turn cherry red as the entire table bursts into snorts of laughter. She elegantly places her chin on her hands as she carefully observes the rest of the table. "I like this girl." Collins laughs as he ruffles her hair. She grins like the Cheshire Cat and hooks her foot around my ankle. _So do I_, I think as she scoots closer to me.

"So, is Benny joining us?" Joanne asks, snapping me out of my daze.

"No. I think he's busy today." Maureen answers, slurping her drink nosily. Musetta gives me a blank stare.

"Our old roommate turned landlord turned jerk and then friend again." I whisper in her ear. She nods with comprehension. "We may have killed his dog." I added, finding it sadistically humorous. Musetta giggles.

"So Cohen destroyed your painting?" Rodger asks, Musetta nods, "What was it a painting of?" he asks. I sit up straighter, I hadn't even asked about the painting, I hadn't even looked at it when she pitched it, I was too distracted by the drunken man.

"It was an idea I had in the middle of the night. I had witnessed a young women kicked out of a Bodega earlier that month because she had a blood transfusion that had infected her. They said they didn't want any infected individuals in this establishment and in that moment I decided all the Disney lies about seeing the best in people were dead. So it was a headstone…" She trails off and shakes her head, "It was stupid."

"I doubt that." Collins smiles encouragingly. Musetta takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, almost as if she was frightened about what our response might be.

"I called it the death of humanity. It was basically a monument of the loss in the belief that people would come through. But I dated the death Good Friday and add a dash after it and simply wrote, 'Someday…' implying that someday that faith might be resurrected." We all stare at her blankly for a moment and Collins begins to applaud.

"Brava," Collins smiled brightly at her, a small tear at the corner of his eye, unclear if it was from resurrected memories of Angel or that he was truly moved, "And I hope Easter Sunday is soon." Musetta smiles sheepishly at the table.

"But how did you know she had acquired AIDS through a blood transfusion?" Joanna asks, always the lawyer. Curious, I had wondered the same thing. Musetta smiles weakly again.

"A lady never tells." She says as she reaches for a fork next to my arm. Her hands were as cold as ice.

**A/N Musetta is such a sassy, moody character. I love writing about her. She's so animated, it's like she's telling me my ideas as I write them down. I personally think she compliments Mark perfectly. But personal opinions. Thanks so much for all the favorites and follows! But please remember to review!**


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